


Faith

by in_motu_proprio



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manhandling, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Semi-Public Sex, Verbal Humiliation, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_motu_proprio/pseuds/in_motu_proprio
Summary: A glimpse into Clint and Natasha's field work sometime before the events of Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

The crack of thunder startled Clint out of his sleep. He fell out of bed, crawling backward until he hit the wall. A light went on and he registered that, but other than that, he was in a firefight he’d fought a hundred times over in his head, his dreams, and in flashbacks. Someone was talking to him and Clint tried so hard to listen. It was impossible over the gunfire disguised as cracks of thunder. Clint’s brain saw lightning and turned it into the flash in flash-bangs. His heart was pounding out of his chest and every nerve was on fire. Clint felt the impossible rush of adrenaline that overcame him in combat, getting to his feet slowly. It wasn’t until a petite, cool hand touched the back of his that Clint snapped back to the here and now. “Clint.” It was a familiar voice and as he tuned in, his mind cleared and he saw that he’d wrecked the nightstand and destroyed the bed. 

“Hey… breathe for me, Clint.” Those chilly fingers brushed his temple then moved to his jaw, down until the palm settled on his chest right over Clint’s heart. “Follow my breath, ok?” His hand was pressed to another’s, palm covering most of her left side. It was a she, Clint blinked a few times and she came into focus. And suddenly it was absurd that he hadn’t recognized his own partner. “That’s it. In through the nose… out through the mouth.” Natasha moved closer, her free hand moving to his knee. “Slow… good Clint.” 

Clint was unclear how she’d gotten in, though it was Natasha so in the end locks really didn’t matter. “It’s a storm?”

“It’s a storm,” she echoed as her hand dropped. He followed her gesture and she picked up his hands in hers, bringing them to her lips to kiss. “How can I help you right now, Clint?” It was such an open ended question. She must have recognized the worry on his face and saved him. “Let’s start with a drink. Vodka or water?” 

“Water. Really cold. Lots of ice.” Clint followed her to the kitchen, his hand in Natasha’s. She wasn’t letting him go nor was she letting him too far from her. 

“Sit down,” she told him softly as she went to the fridge. It was hot and humid all the time here. They were on assignment as a married couple in Belize on a mission. He watched her go about making his water, seeing that she put three bottles of it right in the freezer. They were in a relatively nice home, a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding that hadn’t been occupied for awhile. “Drink it slowly,” she warned as she handed over a glass of ice cold water as requested. Natasha moved in behind him, settling her hands on his shoulders, rubbing sore muscles. Her thumb rubbed under Clint’s right ear and he shuddered. “Ok?” 

“Mmmhmmm,” he shifted his head to let her rub the spot again. Clint sipped his water and let Natasha’s chilly fingertips remind him that he was alive and in this physical body right now. “Your hands are always cold.” 

“Poor circulation,” she shrugged. Or as Clint knew it: _my fingers have been broken so many times there is little to no circulation._ “If you want to tell me where you were, I’ll listen.” Natasha was good with moments like this, something Clint had been having more and more since Lima. It had ended up a bloodbath and Clint harbored a fair bit of guilt over the entire situation. It wasn’t really his fault, but he hadn’t been able to help either. 

Clint remained quiet for a long time, sipping his water and listening to the rain. The thunder had slowed to near nothing, but the rain was still steadily falling outside. “Peru,” he told her. She made an understanding noise and Clint was grateful because they had a shorthand. She understood because she’d seen the footage with her own eyes. Clint knew that if she’d been there, there was a chance he would have lost her, but Natasha had more lives than a cockroach who ate nothing but twinkles and hung out in a nuclear reactor so he tried not to borrow trouble on that count. Still, sometimes he worried. She’d been excluded to run a little operation of her own when he was in Peru. He also hated that, when they didn’t work together. He knew she was her own woman and just about the best spy he’d ever seen. There was also the fact that Clint was madly in love with Natasha and had been since the very early days. Understandably, Natasha had some hangups about men so Clint had never pursued anything. Her friendship and partnership meant more to him and he was not about to risk that just to make himself feel better. “We lost….” 

“Too many,” Natasha told him as her chin settled in at the top of his head. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged Clint tightly. “And there was nothing you could have done. It’s a miracle you got out without more damage.” As it was, Clint had taken a bullet to the meat of his thigh. It wasn’t bad damage-wise. It would just end up another scar, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch as it healed. Not to mention the broken ribs he had wrapped up tight. It was the only thing covering his torso. Clint usually slept bare but had made the concession to put on boxers when he went to sleep. They were an old pair, well-worn and comfortable. They’d often been paired with a bandaged torso. He was Clint Barton after all. It wouldn’t be a mission if he didn’t break at least a finger. “The storm is slowing down. Do you want to stay up for awhile more or try to sleep?” 

“Maybe I’ll lay on the couch for awhile.” Clint looked over at it where it faced the beach. Really, as far as safe houses went, it was a nice one. 

“Why don’t you come lay in my room? I’ll turn the air all the way down and we can close the door.” Clint needed cold in moments like this and it seemed she understood without him having to say. Clint nodded, not able to resist the offer. She retrieved a big pan and tossed all the ice from the freezer into it before sinking the three freezer bottles then filling it up with cold water. “Carry this for me?” She didn’t really need him to, she just wanted him to have some feedback to his body. Natasha was smart and sneaky that way. “Do you want some music?” 

“… yeah,” he told her as he looked at the overly stuffed bed. It wasn’t huge, but it had lots of nice, fluffy bedding that looked amazing. Not to mention that the whole room smelled like her perfume and a freshly finished shower. He noticed for the first time that her hair hung in damp curls over her bare shoulders. It took him a moment to notice, but when he saw that she was wearing only a long ribbed tank top and a pair of underwear he could barely see. Hell, if it weren’t for the fact that her tank top was white, he wouldn’t have realized they were black. She bent a little to fuss with the controls on the air conditioner and Clint got a beautiful view of her ass. Natasha had an A-1, top notch, perfect ass. Even if he were impartial, and he wasn’t, Clint would have to agree. Natasha had the upside down heart sort of ass that caught your eye and kept it. This view, though, including her very upper thighs, was enough to make his cock stir. 

Clint looked away just in time for her to turn around and thanked God that he hadn’t been caught staring. She was his friend and she was trying to help him. It wasn’t fair that he was staring at her, memorizing the curve of black fabric just barely obscuring his view. “Ok?” She walked over. “You’re flushed again.” She climbed into bed, kneeling next to him and resting her palm to his forehead then both to his cheeks. “Come on. Lie down.” She got under the sheet and encouraged him to do the same, settling in on her side. “We can pull the rest up when we get cold.” She moved in closer, her knee brushing his. “You look a lot better,” she told him softly. 

“How did you know I …”

“The thunder woke me up and I went to get some water. I heard you while I was in the hall.” She touched his chest with soft fingers, just barely there. “Clint, you were screaming.” That surprised him. “… maybe it’s time to talk to someone.” 

“I don’t want to talk to the S.H.I.E.L.D. shrinks. They’ll put me on reduced duty and…”

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ve been using a therapist off the books since I defected.” Clint hated the idea of seeking help but maybe she was right. “Let me give you her number?” Natasha had taken his hand, squeezing it softly in a kind of gentle hope he could never say no to. He’d seen Natasha at rock bottom, hopeless and starving. Seeing her hope was all that kept Clint going some days. “Good. Thank you. Now you need to rest.” Natasha was half sitting up and reached over to run her fingers through his hair. It only took a few minutes of that to put Clint into a little trance state where he felt like he floated for a long time before finally falling asleep. 

He didn’t know if Natasha had stayed up all night, but when he woke she was in essentially the same position she had been, her fingers occasionally stroking his hair. “Mmmmmm.” 

“Too early,” she told him softly and Clint took her at her word before falling back asleep. The next time he woke it was to the smell of bacon and coffee. “Whenever you’re hungry,” Natasha told him as she set a plate of breakfast on the nightstand near Clint. 

“You cooked?” 

“I’m capable,” Natasha told him. “You know that.” 

“I know…. I just…. It’s nice.” Clint glanced away, trying to think of the last time he’d had a meal cooked for him that wasn’t from either her or Coulson. That was it because they were essentially his family. For a man who grew up bouncing between foster homes then on his own, food was sometimes scarce. Add to that the fact that home cooked meals had been exchanged for unhappy favors more than once over the years. It was amazing what you’d do when you were starving and cold on the street. So Clint sat up and happily picked up the tray she’d set down. “Breakfast in bed,” he said with a raised brow. “Either you want something or I was really, REALLY pathetic last night.” 

“What about both,” Natasha joked as she sat facing him on the bed, stealing a slice of bacon. “We have recon to do so when you’re done with your breakfast, shower and get ready. I want to be out the door in an hour.” She reached out, ruffled his already problematic hair, and headed for the door. “Wear your suit,” she told him before closing the door behind her. His suit? In this weather?


	2. Chapter 2

Clint was relatively sure he could wring a couple glasses of sweat out of his suit by the time Natasha had gotten what she needed from her mark. He’d been doing his best quiet investor pose in the lobby of an up and coming hotel. While he’d been bent over his computer _working_ , Natasha was across the room doing her own work. It wasn’t unusual for Natasha to have to get physical on missions. It also wasn’t unusual for Clint to want to kick the ass of anyone who touched her. Still, it wasn’t his place. What she did was necessary and important. That’s what he kept reminding himself of when he heard her cue through his earpiece. Clint closed his computer and headed toward the elevator, furiously texting on his phone as he waited. Natasha and her mark came up a minute later. 

The doors opened and they all nodded to each other in greeting, the universal exchange of looks that said they’d all adhere to the elevator social contract of not talking or farting. Natasha waited until the doors closed to make her real move. Clint glanced up in time to see her nails scrape down the back of the man’s neck as they rose. The poison she was working with was transdermal and just that little gesture, the tiny breaks she’d made in his skin. The poor bastard didn’t know it, but in an hour he’d be dead. Clint didn’t feel particularly bad, though, because this man was responsible for a tremendous amount of civilian death. It was only right that she was bringing him down with a bioweapon because it was his favorite thing to test on civilian populations. Clint appreciated the beauty of that symmetry as the man’s lips ran down Natasha’s throat. Then she let out this fake little giggle that just pissed him off. 

He let them get off first, riding up two floors so that he could wait five minutes before coming down and into the adjoining suite whose door access card he’d duplicated earlier in the day. Clint took his time, stopping at the minibar to grab a couple of bottles of high end vodka before coming through the door. “What the fuck….” The guy looked up from where Natasha had tied him to a wingback chair. “I didn’t say anything about another man.”

“Yet you suggested another woman so lightly,” Natasha countered with a raise of her brow. “We’re here to debrief you,” she told him. 

“… what, I don’t…” 

“You’re dying,” Clint told the man as he uncapped the small bottle of vodka and had half before passing it to Natasha. “And it’s hot as fuck in here.”

“You’re always hot,” Natasha shot back. 

“I’m not dying, what the fuck are you talking about?” He looked back and forth frantically. 

“You are,” Clint assured him as he peeled off his jacket. “Fucking sweat through this, too. Damn it.” The man was staring at them. “You’re Reginald Masters, correct?” 

“… I don’t know who that is.” But the look on his face said _fuck_. 

“Yeah… gotcha. Well here’s the thing. You’re on a timeline Reggie. Her poison works within an hour.” Clint tapped his watch. “Tick, tock.” 

“We’re here to offer you a deal.” 

“The antidote?” 

Natasha laughed. It would have been a sweet sound if it wasn’t that she was laughing in a dying man’s face. “There’s no antidote. The deal is for your family.” Natasha smiled that cat-like grin of hers that said she was about to play with her food. Clint just cracked the other small bottle of vodka and watched. 

After he cursed her out, threatening until he eventually petered out. “Done,” Clint asked. 

“Fuck you, too. What are you, her muscle?” 

“… um, you’re the one who was tied to the chair when I came in,” Clint pointed out. “And if anything, I’m here to keep her from going too far. See… she has some proclivities that she can take out for a walk when she knows her mark is dying.” Natasha smiled on cue. “Did you bring your scalpels? I got her this amazing sharpener for her birthday. She can split a hair.” 

“What do you want?” 

“We want information, Mr. Masters. Once you give us what you want, we’ll get you into bed and wait until things take their course.” That was when he broke down. Clint had seen it many times. A man, when faced with his death, did one of a few things. Apparently _this guy_ cried like a bitch. Natasha stood in front of him, waiting quietly for him to finish his crying jag before she started her interrogation. Natasha was incredibly good at what she did and had her answers before Masters even started to get drowsy. “Now tell me about the offshore holdings.” Clint hadn’t expected that, but he kept his face neutral as she spoke. “Tell me what account numbers to send your wife and children in two years’ time.”

“You… I don’t want you near them.”

“I won’t be. It will come from an anonymous email along with a new account established for them. You have six girls, right? Lots of weddings to pay for.” Natasha cocked her head to the side. “Make me go digging and I’ll keep the money. Give the numbers over and your family will be taken care of for the rest of their lives.” Clint watched Natasha take in every bit of information as he made notes on his tablet. She was incredible and Clint loved being this close and being able to just watch her work. When Masters started to doze, Clint knew that was his cue. He got up, waiting for her to untie him. Masters started talking about some dog he had when he was a kid and Clint didn’t really listen. He waited until Natasha had the sheets pulled down so he could carry Masters over. She set the scene around him, unbuttoning his shirt halfway, shoes off, socks on, belt off. Natasha was setting the scene of a man who came back to his room not feeling so well and died of a massive heart attack. 

Clint watched the man’s respirations as Natasha took care of any trace of them on the hotel security footage. Not that there were many cameras up and running just yet. The control room had a huge fire only two days ago. Funny how things worked in your favor sometimes. “Get the condom,” Natasha told Clint. He looked down to see a still-wrapped rubber on the floor. They didn’t want anyone looking for a mysterious redhead he’d brought up to his room after all. With their information acquired, the room cleaned, and the man taking his final breaths, he watched Natasha finally seem to settle. Clint felt nothing as the man moved from living to dead other than wishing the air conditioning the room could be turned down lower. It would help confuse time of death. Natasha on the other hand looked upset. 

He came up behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Ready to run it down?” They talked double checks to make sure there was no trace of either of them, made sure all the information they needed had been gathered plus some, and reviewed escape routes as well as rendezvous points. She gave him a tight nod and Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“You’re sweaty,” she complained. And the mood was broken. Natasha was joking with him as they moved into the adjacent room then the suite on the other side of that door. They exited two doors down and went the other way to take another set of elevators down to the lobby. Then, as a couple, they exited to a taxi, slipping in the back and away from the scene of their crimes. The cab, mercifully, had air conditioning. Instead of going back to their safe house, they went to a restaurant for dinner. Clint stripped out of his jacket and tie, unbuttoning his shirt and eventually losing it when he had the opportunity to buy a t-shirt from a vendor, shoving the abandoned top of his suit a bag the guy gave him. “… you’d better hope you don’t need that jacket again.”

“I sincerely hope I never have to wear that jacket again,” Clint told her as he held the door. 

“Pity,” she told him as she walked through to the tiny dining room, “you look good in it.” Clint blushed and Natasha gave him a knowing smirk before turning to the waitress and asking for a table for two. By the time she looked back, he’d recovered. Still, she saw that and found it amusing. At least he didn’t have to look at that sad, distant look she’d had before. Clint hated that look. 

Natasha sat with her back to the wall and Clint slid in next to her, holding up the alibi that they were a newly wedded couple. It had nothing to do with the buckets of cold air pouring out from the air conditioner over the table. Clint was in paradise. “Bucket of beer and some menus,” Clint asked the waitress. She headed away. Natasha’s eyes were scanning the place, for potential threats. Until she was certain there was no issue, Natasha would not relax. He watched some gooseflesh rise on her bare arms, glancing above to the air conditioner. “The room’s fine. You could sit on the other side. Less AC.”

“Thanks, no.” She shifted a little, pressing just a touch closer. “My husband will keep me warm.” She snuck in under his arm and pressed close. She was playing a part. Clint had to constantly remind himself of that. “What are we getting, honey?” 

“I don’t know, pumpkin.” Clint kissed the tip of her nose as a joke and Natasha flushed for real. Clint liked that look on her, though he felt his own cheeks echo her flush moments after. Clint rubbed his hand up and down her bumpy arm, trying to warm her up a little. “You want my jacket? It’s wrinkled and probably smells.”

“You are so incredibly romantic,” she deadpanned. “And yes.” Clint pulled the balled up garment out of the bag and wrapped it around her. “Looks good on you, kid.” She rolled her eyes and leaned back into him. “Oh, beer,” Clint exclaimed when the bucket hit the table. “Awesome.” Natasha stayed tucked under his arm, as close as she could get without being in his lap. Clint waited until the waitress went to look over at her. Natasha looked distant, sad. “I’ll listen…” 

She glanced up, blue-green eyes taking him in before flicking away. “He reminded me of someone,” she said softly as she took the opened beer from Clint’s offering hand. “He looked a lot like someone who was kind to me.” Clint leaned over and kissed her temple, Natasha relaxing just a little against him. “It’s fine. Part of the job.” 

“Not a good part,” he squeezed her a little then picked up his beer. “Change of subject,” he asked and she nodded. “Did I tell you that I like this dress?”

“Twice,” Natasha said as she glanced down. The dress was one of those that was tight on top and loose on bottom with a lot of Natasha’s shoulders, chest, and upper back on display. Well, before she put on his jacket. “You just like me in purple.” Natasha’s eyes flicked up, a little smile on her lips. Then it occurred to him all at once… she had been wearing a lot of purple lately. And he always commented. “What?”

“Pick that out for me,” he teased with a wink. 

“Actually,” Natasha ran her hands over the skirt, smoothing it out a little. “I wish I were little darker though.” A few things clicked in Clint’s head right then but the waitress picked that moment to come over and ask for their order. Natasha, seeing that he was a little dumbfounded, just ordered for them both. At some point her fingers laced into his, holding his hand as they relaxed in their little cocoon of cold air and warm bodies. “One down, two to go,” she said as she set down her beer bottle. Clint knew, though, that she was talking work. Her posture had made a subtle shift and he recognized it as Natasha ready to plan. 

“Next one’s gay,” Clint pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Natasha shrugged.

“That confident in your abilities,” Clint teased as he uncapped another bottle for each of them. 

“… no, I’m confident in yours.” Clint blinked twice, slowly turning to her. “We’ll keep it above the waist, get him sedated quick, but there will probably be some…”

“Yeah… I got it,” Clint tensed a little. It wasn’t fair to complain when Natasha had just had to do the same thing, but Clint had some history in this area and it wasn’t good history. “We get a pic yet?” Natasha knew way too much about him, about how he held himself when he was upset, because she just slid closer, pressing the tip of her cold nose to the underside of his jaw, making him jump. “We can change tables,” he told her with a little shudder. She’d snaked a cold hand in under the back of his t-shirt, resting at his bandages. 

“I’m fine. I’ll just hang on you like a limpet,” she joked but happily didn’t move away at all. “At least he’s good looking,” Natasha told Clint as she pulled out her phone to flash Clint the picture. “Mine usually aren’t.” 

“How do you do it,” Clint asked her. “It’s always so …”

“I imagine someone I trust,” she told him with that open expression that always caught 100% of Clint’s attention. “And I remind myself constantly that it’s just a mission and has zero to do with me on a personal level.” She laced their fingers together. “And knowing you’re there helps a lot. I know you’d gut anyone who mistreated me.” She was right about that. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t care for herself, but Clint didn’t take well to people he cared for being mistreated in any way. “Yours doesn’t arrive until tomorrow night,” Natasha told Clint evenly. “Let’s enjoy our evening. Forget about work if it’s possible?” 

It was a good plan and one Clint easily agreed to. Natasha stayed close and they finished the bucket of beer plus a second one before a crappy band came on. It was lots of bad Bob Marley covers, but Natasha was swaying a little in her seat so Clint became more and more ok with it. He swayed with her a little and it took moments for her to slide out of the booth and pull him along onto a tiny dance floor. She’d shed his jacket and was all pretty and bare-shouldered. The fabric was a little soft if he rubbed it one way and a little scratchy if he went the other, so Clint found himself rapidly obsessed with rubbing his thumb over her hip as they swayed. Natasha was a good dancer. She’d trained and stuff. Clint was not, so he just swayed and let her be beautiful. Natasha’s eyes had drifted shut and her cheek rested on his shoulder softly. Clint’s lips brushed her temple before he settled in to sway. 

Natasha’s hands ran over his back, the edge of a nail hitting above his collar now and again when her fingers would run backward through the hair at the nape of his neck. They didn’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon for their next job, so this was a nice little reprieve. Her hand ran over the small of Clint’s back then dipped just under the leather of his belt to scrape nails against tender, heated skin. Clint shuddered, opening his eyes to find her looking at him. She shifted closer, bringing his attention to the fact that he had half a stiffie pressed into her thigh. She gave him a dirty little smile that broke the spell he was under. “Sorry… shit….” He moved back, but she followed, her hand slipping down into his boxers to squeeze his bare ass. 

“It’s not a problem, Clint.” And there was that heated, deep tone she got. 

“… Nat… “ Her fingertips ran down his cheek as she leaned in to kiss him. They’d kissed before, so it wasn’t necessarily new. But before had been on mission. This was because she wanted to kiss him. Or maybe because she was drunk, but it didn’t matter. Clint’s hand cupped the small of her back, letting himself have a moment with her crushed to him. Tomorrow he’d probably blame it on the alcohol, a convenient scapegoat, but right now all he wanted was to keep kissing her. She moaned for him, soft and low, those strong, chilly fingers in his hair again. 

“Why don’t we get some air,” she breathed into his throat a few minutes later when breathing became necessary. Clint just nodded and let himself be pulled onto a rickety looking deck down to the beach. Many other couples had clearly had the same idea and were in various states of undress. Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Natasha had already backed him into the pylon for the pier, her mouth at his throat while her hands moved over his bandaged chest. The wedding ring she wore got stuck for a moment before she shifted her hand up to his pec and squeezed his nipple. “Lean back.” Clint watched in disbelief as her hands went to his belt, but followed directions. He was rewarded with her hand wrapping round his cock moments later. For a second, Clint thought he was losing his damn mind, but then there was her mouth on his again, kissing possessively. Clint woke from his shock when her thumb rubbed over the head of his cock, eliciting a shudder from top to toe. He kissed her hard then, his hand at the nape of her neck as he turned them and put her back to the pylon. “Yes,” she nodded emphatically as his hand slipped under her dress, cupping her bare ass. 

“God you have an amazing ass.” Natasha wrapped one thigh around his hip then worked her way up so her legs were wrapped round his waist, dress hiked up as he kissed her roughly. She moaned when his mouth ran over her clavicle, worrying a little bump that spoke of a long-healed break. She continued to stroke him as Clint’s lips worked over her right breast, roughly pulling the fabric aside so he’d have no barrier. She moaned for him, rubbing herself against his hip as she stroked hi. “I need you,” he growled into her throat and Natasha had him freed of his pants, hard and positioned when a set of flashlights came on up the beach. They were kissing roughly when words like _cops_ and _indecent exposure_ hit his ears. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” 

They weren’t amateurs, so they didn’t actually get caught. That being said, Clint’s incredibly hard cock made it painful to run. And not in a good, it’ll feel better later way. They made it out to the boardwalk without an issue, laughing in an alley as they got themselves a little more situated. There was no denying that it looked like they’d been making out, but nothing worse than that. Not visibly anyway. “Natasha, I ….” But her phone rang and their timeline got moved up. Apparently their next mark was on his way to Miami and they were to get moving now. 

“… so, Clint,” Natasha looked at him with a little grimace, “what do you know about topping a bottom bitch?” They had to stop walking because she was laughing so hard. 

“What the ever living fuck are you talking about?” He hailed them a cab and held the door for her. 

“Well apparently the gentleman has some specific tastes. And… uh… you match a lot of his kinks.” Clint grimaced. 

“Just… give me the rundown.” Natasha handed over her phone and Clint started to read. “… for real?” He closed his eyes. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there watching your back.” She was clearly amused at the fact that he was going to be stuck in a gay BDSM club. “I can be your hag.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Not right now,” she teased with a nod to his still partially hard cock. 

“Oh he’s going to eat you up with a spoon,” Natasha said with a smirk letting Clint read a little more before whispering in his ear, “p.s.… don’t wash.”


	3. Chapter 3

Clint looked incredibly uncomfortable right up until the door opened. Then he was 100% man on a mission, walking in right to the bar. Miami was a pretty open town and as Natasha walked through the room she was already seeing all kinds of pairings and groupings. Justin Hammer’s choice of sex clubs wasn’t half bad. The fact that Clint was walking around in a skin tight black tank top and jeans helped. They hadn’t had a minute to think about let alone talk about their little slip in Belize. Well… not so much their… not so much a slip. She would have taken him right then and there and been totally ok with it. Natasha had been ready, Clint had been ready, but neither of them needed to get tapped right now. “You look good,” Natasha told Clint as he leaned into the bar. He was pissed and looking to take it out on someone, just the kind of top Justin Hammer looked for. 

“I am going to need a shower after this.” 

“I want to watch.”

“Me shower,” Clint asked as an attractive waiter handed him a tall glass of vodka filled to the top with ice and peppered in with lime. 

“You make this guy your bitch _then_ you shower.” Natasha said it as though she were joking. She was not. Natasha had told him she fully intended to be his audience of one. They were there as a unit, actually. A couple who picked up a third. Tonight it was her call and she wanted him to pick up a bottom and fuck him out in front of her. It happened to be one of Hammer’s particular fantasies and when he came into view, Natasha made eye contact before leaning over to whisper in Clint’s ear. “Give it a minute then make eye contact. Give him that look that makes the panties drop.” She licked his throat and almost felt Clint counting before he turned. She couldn’t see the look Clint was giving Hammer, but the guy almost dropped his drink. “Well that worked,” she mumbled at the way Hammer tried to play it cool for precisely five seconds before heading over. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” Clint made eye contact again and held up his half-full drink. “… how about your next then?” Again, Clint said nothing. He just picked up his drink and finished it in a go, pretending not to notice the way Hammer’s eyes devoured Clint’s chest and arms. Natasha wondered if Clint could feel the thirsty gaze running over his throat. 

“Double vodka, same for my wife.” Clint nodded to Natasha and Hammer came up short. “She likes to watch me wreck sissy boys.” Hammer pinked through the cheeks and shuddered a little when Clint grabbed his belt loop and puled him close. “She likes it when I make them squeal.” Clint was making Natasha breathless just with his tone let alone what he was saying. He reached for Hammer’s belt, holding the man’s eyes as he tugged it away from his body, glancing down the front of his pants and smirked. In a moment, Clint dumped the remaining ice down the front of Hammer’s pants and pushed him away hard enough to make him hit the floor and skid a few feet on the smooth black surface. “Extra lime in hers.” Hammer shuddered, staring at Clint with wide eyes for a moment before nodding and hurrying away. 

“… you’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not acting when I say I want to make him squeal. That guy’s a fuckin’ weasel.” Clint looked at Natasha again, the tight white dress she was wearing showed off her curves and Natasha had worn it because he looked at her like this. Plus, the guy was incredibly uncomfortable and maybe having something nice to look at would make things a little easier. She wasn’t wearing a bra and had gone out of her way to show off her nipples by sliding rings around them to make them stand out, hopefully a good reprieve for him. “You got a room, right?” 

“Yes. We have a suite,” Natasha told him as her hand ran up his bare arm. “Love your arms, baby.” Hammer was closing in so she played it up a little bit, kissing his shoulder and dragging her teeth up Clint’s bare arm. 

“I’ve got your….” 

Clint’s hand came out and clasped over Hammer’s mouth, shutting him up as Clint’s focus went back to Natasha. He leaned in and sucked a path down her throat, pushing the fabric barely coving her breast aside so he could lean in and suck hard on her nipple. It wasn’t entirely orthodox, but Natasha was _not_ complaining. She might have been on mission, but her knees went weak when Clint’s teeth nibbled gently and tugged on the gold ring. It took her longer than it should have to realize that Clint wasn’t exposing her to the room. He was hiding her breast with his mouth, head, and hand. When he finished, he covered her again, wet skin dragging over stretchy cotton. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.” Clint took the drinks, nodding at Hammer’s wet pants. “Take them off.” 

“I’m sorry, I… what?” He was flushed. 

“I’m not going to have you standing there looking like you pissed your pants. Show me you’re serious. Take them off. Or are you not wearing panties, princess?” Hammer flushed even deeper and Clint laughed because he clearly knew exactly what Hammer was wearing underneath. “Or _are_ you?” Clint handed the drinks off to Natasha and took Hammer by the belt. “Are they pink?” 

“… they’re …” But Clint had already opened the belt and pushed Hammer’s pants off, roughly dropping them to the floor in front of the whole club. Clint was drawing an audience and Natasha was grateful they’d both opted for simple leather masks to obscure a good portion of their faces. She was amazed when Hammer didn’t fight him, letting Clint strip him down and not giving him the same consideration of blocking his humiliation from the room. Justin Hammer let Clint strip him down to just a pair of lacy Iron Man panties, whining and whimpering as Clint just manhandled him there at the bar with half the place watching. 

“Big fan,” Clint asked as his hand touched a little lace over the hip. 

“Can we go upstairs?” Hammer was looking uncomfortable, flushed to the tips of his ears. 

“Go upstairs,” Clint asked. “Presumptuous. What if I just wanted you to buy me a drink and to humiliate you?” 

“… maybe you can give me a little more… Sir? I… I can…”

“Shut up and kneel. If I’m still interested by the time I finish this, maybe I’ll bring you upstairs or maybe I’ll fuck your face right here.” Natasha couldn’t deny that she wished it were her on her knees in that moment. Clint would probably never talk to her like that and maybe she didn’t even actually want that, but the gravel in his voice got to her on an animal level she was not about to deny. “C’mere,” Clint pulled Natasha over and kissed her. For a solid five minutes they made out and drank and one of the wealthiest men in America knelt at Clint’s feet waiting for attention with a hard on threatening to poke through his Iron Man panties. At the five minute mark, Clint reached out and slid his fingers through Hammer’s hair and pulled him in a little closer. He didn’t acknowledge, but Clint did keep a hand in the man’s hair. 

“I can please your wife,” Hammer suggested when they were about halfway through their drinks. Natasha was shocked he’d been able to wait that long frankly. 

“I doubt that,” Clint deadpanned. “She doesn’t fuck sissy boys. She likes real men who know what to do with a woman.” Clint normally wouldn’t speak for her, but right now he was and she was having a hard time not wanting to sit on his face. “I could strip her down, lay her out, and you would have no idea where to even begin. She’d be wasted on you.” Then he ran his fingers from her throat to her navel in one slow stroke, helping the fabric to slip dangerously low over her breasts. “But you want to watch, don’t you, baby?” Clint’s teeth ran over her throat. 

“Yes,” Natasha told him honestly, her fingers clenching on his waist. “Let’s take him upstairs.” She reached out to touch Hammer’s cheek. “Maybe I’ll take pity on him and let him have your sloppy seconds. He looks like the type who’d like fucking a girl already full of another man’s cum.” Natasha thought that Hammer might well look twitterpated. Was this what love looked like early on, she wondered. She wouldn’t blame the guy, though he was going to be very disappointed in the long run. “Come along, Princess.”  
“My name’s…”

“Your name is either cumslut or princess. You pick.” Clint’s hand had tightened in Hammer’s hair enough to make the man’s eyes water and pull him up off his knees to a painful middle posture that had him stooping and shuffling, barely able to keep his feet under him. 

“P… Princess,” he whimpered as Clint got him to his feet, hand still in his hair. “My God you’re a dream,” Hammer groaned when Clint gave him a shove in the direction of the elevator and followed close with Natasha. She was warm from his proximity more than from the booze, but she was also almost vibrating with the sex hanging in the air. Clint put Hammer on his knees in the elevator then made him crawl down the hall to the room and wait while he made Natasha breathless with another hard kiss just a few feet away. 

Inside things went pretty fast. Natasha poured drinks and included a healthy dose of something special for Hammer. In five minutes he was singing like a canary. In ten he offered up anything to make it stop. In fifteen she gave him something to make it stop and help him forget everything come morning. Clint played the man masterfully, getting every bit of information they needed plus a fair bit more before they were putting him to bed and slipping out. Usually stoic, Clint was especially quiet as they walked down to the lobby, his hand in hers. 

Clint was incredibly quiet as they drove, and Natasha didn’t say anything. There was something heavy in the air she couldn’t put her finger on, but Clint was going through it and there wasn’t a lot she could do until he decided to talk to her. He got them out of the city before she opened her mouth and it was like she’d broken a dam. “Talk to me.” He pulled over fast, cutting off the engine then grabbing her. It wasn’t talking, but she’d take it. She let herself be pulled into his lap, ready for whatever he was going to do. 

Clint’s mouth crashed into hers and Natasha moaned. She felt like she was getting the real Clint, something raw and needy that she craved from him. He pulled her dress down to expose both breasts, groaning before closing his mouth around as much of one as he could while he handled the other roughly. It took her a minute to realize it, mostly because Natasha was ready to pull him out and sit on his cock right now, but when she finally looked at his face Natasha saw tears in his eyes. “Hey… hey.” She took his face in both hands, making Clint stop what he was doing and look at her. “Clint… talk to me.” He froze up a little and all she could get from there was him holding onto her for dear life. “Shhhhh…” her hand smoothed down the back of his neck. “I have you.” 

He didn’t say anything as they sat there, Natasha holding him with the steering wheel jammed into her back. She didn’t care. When he finally stopped shaking, she climbed out of his lap and made him change spots with her, driving them back to base to debrief, fingers laced together on the seat between them.


	4. Chapter 4

When they got back to base, Clint said he felt disgusting and begged off to grab a shower. Natasha hadn’t been happy about letting him go his own way, but she had. All he could think about was the feeling of another man close to him in that intimate way and his stomach turned over. It was his damn job and he had to figure this out. It wasn’t until that fucking psychiatrist went poking around a couple years back and reminded Clint just what scumbags guys could be that he started struggling with missions like this. It wasn’t like Clint couldn’t have told you the names of the men who’d abused him over the years, but he didn’t think of it often. This mission made him think of himself, too young, too vulnerable. He scrubbed harder under the hot water.

When Clint got out, his skin was pink and his mind was no less fuzzy. When he got in the shower, Natasha had gone to debrief so he assumed she’d still be gone. Clint didn’t bother with a towel, jumping a mile when she wolf whistled from across the room. “Jesus Christ, Nat. You scared the hell out of me.”  
“What’s with the free show,” she asked without taking her eyes from him. 

“Thought you’d be upstairs longer.” Most of him said to cover himself but some of him said to make her look. “A… about the…”

“Missions can stir things up,” she said softly. Natasha was amazing and as she walked to him all he could think was how unworthy he was, how he’d dirtied her by kissing her. “Stuff you thought you’d buried.” Her fingers ran over the inside of his elbow. “It’s ok, Clint.” Her hand traveled up to his bicep. “Tell me how I can help.” 

“If I knew I would,” he told her quite seriously, trying not to stare. She was wearing the same white tube dress from earlier with his leather jacket thrown over it, all of her curves hugged with silky white fabric showing off the curve of her breasts though they were barely covered. He caught a whiff of Hammer’s overwhelming cologne on her and stepped away fast. 

“What… Clint, what?” She moved closer and he put a hand out. 

“You smell like him. He… his cologne.” Clint crossed his arms over his chest, almost forgetting he was bare assed. 

“Ok.” Natasha did what must have seemed reasonable to her and stripped her dress off in one go, tossing it across the room with Clint’s jacket. “Better?” 

Clint’s eyes were stuck on Natasha’s breasts. They were beautiful, big and full, with nipples still adorned with small gold rings forcing them to be nice and hard. Other than that she only wore her heels and a scrap of white fabric between he legs by way of a thong. “Holy shit you’re hot.” It came out before he could censor himself. 

“Ok… getting whiplash, Clint.” Natasha stepped closer, clearly unsure. “One thing at a time. Do you need me to shower? Do I still smell like him?” He could feel the heat from her skin and Clint leaned in to breathe against her shoulder a moment. 

“No… you smell… like you.” Her breasts pressed to his chest, hard nipples rubbing and dragging as they shifted. “You smell good.” 

“I do,” Natasha asked with a little teasing lilt to her voice. Clint’s hand fell to her hip, fingers shaking just a touch before he closed them on her skin. “I’m going to shoot anyone who interrupts us this time,” Natasha told him pointedly before closing the distance and kissing him. Natasha’s bare breasts pressed more firmly into him and Clint was able to touch bare skin at her back as they kissed. It was glorious. 

He followed her lead at first, letting Natasha put them on the path mostly because Clint needed someone to lead him right now. He was adrift and she was his compass at the moment. He moaned when her hand tugged at his hair, getting Clint’s attention. “I want you, Clint.” And if those weren’t the sweetest words he’d ever heard, he didn’t know what were. From there on out, Clint just closed his eyes and followed, trusting Natasha to have his back in bed like she did in the field. And just like every other time he’d trusted her, Clint’s faith paid off.


End file.
